


Affirmation

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [49]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3950665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it was the small things that mattered when a nightmare awoke Theron; the quiet sounds of the room or camp around him, the feeling of the pillow against his cheek or the warmth of Zevran behind him that helped him to calm down and diminish the nightmare to a lingering sense of unease that was forgotten once he was dressed and ready for the day.</p><p>Other times, no matter how gently he woke up afterwards, the images clung stubbornly in his mind’s eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Affirmation

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a wonderful (nsfw) FenHawke comic: http://pogonabarbata.tumblr.com/post/50005234146/by-elfkin-i-think-my-yaoi-fangirl-is-showing

Sometimes it was the small things that mattered when a nightmare awoke Theron; the quiet sounds of the room or camp around him, the feeling of the pillow against his cheek or the warmth of Zevran behind him that helped him to calm down and diminish the nightmare to a lingering sense of unease that was forgotten once he was dressed and ready for the day.

Other times, no matter how gently he woke up afterwards, the images clung stubbornly in his mind’s eye.

The ranger opened his eyes and shivered despite the warm furs, trying desperately to think of anything else as his eyes stung in warning. The steady sound of breathing behind him, as well as the hand resting on his ribs reassured him that he wasn't alone. That the ground wasn’t stained with blood or slumped bodies with familiar eyes glazed over in death.

"Zevran." He muttered, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he took a deep breath, a hand seeking out the one draped over him and clinging tightly while the other gripped at the sheets.

"Theron?" The Antivan replied, voice hazy with sleep and confusion.

The Dalish elf felt Zevran shift behind him and the hand in his twitch.

"Are you well,  _mi amor_?" Zevran asked a heartbeat later, sounding far more awake and concerned.

Theron shook his head minutely in response, and edged backwards until his back was pressed flush against Zevran's warm chest, drawing strength from the solidness of the body behind him.

"A nightmare, I presume?" The blond guessed, his free hand running through the ranger's hair soothingly.

"I saw my clan butchered, from the Keeper to the smallest child, and even the halla. Then it was you and the Crows. And I couldn’t do anything to stop it." Theron explained, hearing his voice tremble, and Zevran's hand tightened against his side in response. The ranger squeezed his eyes shut again as the stinging in the corners of his eyes developed into a sharp pain. He wouldn't cry. It had only been a dream, it hadn't been real.

"If you wish to cry,  _amor_ , I will not think less of you for it."

Theron couldn't help a weak smile, even though his eyes still hurt with the threat of tears and his breathing was ragged.

"I know,  _lath_ , and thank you. I'll be fine, though." He answered rather unconvincingly, turning over so he could face Zevran at last and see his golden eyes gentle with sympathy. "It was just a bad dream." He added with a sigh, leaning forwards to rest his head against the blond's chest and feel his steady heartbeat. He was alive. His clan was alive. They all were, no matter how hard the nightmare had tried to convince him otherwise.

After a moment’s hesitation, Zevran's arms wrapped around his shoulders to pull him into a tight hug and surround him with warmth.

"Only a dream. You are safe with me, _mi amor_." The Antivan murmured over and over again in the dark as he listened to Theron’s breathing slowly even out inbetween the occasional sniffle. Eventually the ranger lifted his head up, eyes slightly damp, but he appeared calmer.

“Zevran, could I- I mean, we…?” The black-haired elf began, running a hand down the blond’s chest and stomach to make his intent clearer when words failed him.

Zevran leaned forwards to gently kiss the other elf, relaxing his arms and nodding.

“Of course, if that is what you wish. Anything.” He added, stretching out on his back as Theron followed and kissed him again.

Zevran was very well acquainted with the fragile balance of death, life, and loss, had been even before his seventh year and the Crows. Sometimes true comfort could only be derived from the feeling of skin on skin, to experience the heady rush of life in it’s rawest form in order to be satisfied that all was well and safe for a time. It was an ultimately temporary solution to such an achingly deep and terrible need, but he could hardly deny Theron from seeking such comfort for himself after his nightmares. He could not have left Theron to his festering grief over Tamlen either, even though Zevran suspected that he would never truly be able to heal a wound with such deep roots and take another’s place entirely.

From the moment that Theron had confided in him, Zevran had privately wondered if the ranger still harboured some lingering ember of hope or love for the clanmate he'd been forced to leave behind, and what had happened in the Gauntlet and outside Haven had only served to confirm it as the truth. And Zevran was unsure if he wanted to find out if that was still the case now, long after he had watched Theron bury the man he loved and killed. Whether he was now sharing the ranger's love with the ghost of an elf he had never met. Zevran had long avoided thinking about whether he was in the exact same situation regarding Taliesen and Rinna, and tonight was not a night he wanted to spend haunted by those choices he had made, in another country when he had been a different man. Before he had met the Dalish Grey Warden.

No. He would stay by the ranger’s side for as long as he would be had, and would think nothing of storming the gates of the Black City itself with him. Theron loved him, and despite his own inability to say as much in response Zevran loved him back completely, as much as he was able. 

“ _Amor_ , I will never leave you.” Zevran said as they removed what little clothing they had on. The Dalish elf paused above him, the tilt of his head making his pupils flash for a second in reflected moonlight. The blond sat up and cupped the ranger's face, and the next kiss was fiercer with the edge of awoken need, their bodies pressing together once more to escape the yearning and yawn of emptiness.

“ _Ma sa’lath_.” Theron whispered shakily when they parted for air, the words nearly lost even though the room was silent around them. “I don’t want to lose you the way I’ve lost everything else I cared about.” The words were raw with emotion, and their urgency made Zevran's heart twist. He remained still even as Theron dug his nails lightly into his shoulders, as if he terrified that he was about to lose him anyway. Given his nightmares, the blond wouldn't be surprised if he  _was_ terrified.

“You won’t,” Zevran answered firmly as they stared at each other, bodies bathed in blue shadows and silver moonlight. “Now or ever, unless you are the one to send me away.”

With that, he reached blindly for the vial of oil on the bedside table, and held it out towards the ranger knelt between his parted legs.

Theron looked at it for a moment, before his grey gaze shifted back to Zevran’s face.

“I won’t.” He echoed, carefully taking the oil. After that, there were no more words to say, only hands and mouths following reassuringly familiar paths until the threatening chill of loss was chased away for one more night.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't help but feel a little sorrier for Zevran than I do Theron.  
> Constructive criticism, whether on this piece or any others I've posted on here, is very much welcome!


End file.
